


The Spaces In Between

by semisacredgeometry



Series: The Spaces In Between [1]
Category: Prey (Video Game 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Existential Angst, Existentialism, F/F, Female Morgan Yu, Gen, Morgan Yu - Freeform, Post-Canon, mikhaila ilyushin - Freeform, prey 2017, starts gen gets gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-06-21 10:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15556161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semisacredgeometry/pseuds/semisacredgeometry
Summary: M - Morgan - she's having a hard time. Tests, the fate of the world's recovery riding on your shoulders. People not believing in her personhood. All that, and she's finding out she still has feelings for a certain Chief Engineer...





	1. Terrible Lie

**Author's Note:**

> hello! welcome to the fic. i have an overarching plot planned out and it'll be both gen in some chapters and featuring f/f in others. this fic features and will feature depictions of weaponry, violence, bigotry on the part of very wrong people, and a healthy dose of existence-questioning.

_Ah, she thought. So this is what being dead is like. Blackness. Disappointing, really._

The last she could remember was a preflight check of “who gives a shit” before launching from Talos in a commandeered shuttle.

Talos. Station of the dead. Station of dust, now that it was scattered into constituent debris.

_Elegy, n: A poem lamenting for the dead, a work of serious reflection._

_Elegy._

_Morgan rolled the word in her head. Elegy. Elegy._

_Elegy._

_Elegvee._

_Ellgeevee._

_LGV._

_LGV3.1?_

_LGV3.1_

_**LGV3.1, LGV3.1, LGV3.1 --** _

Consciousness came back to Morgan Yu. Her vision flared red and blue and black, then blinding light that resolved into… Operators and a man. Alex. She was restrained, she realized – not uncomfortably, but enough to be restrained, if only just.

“It’s finished. How did it do?”

Morgan’s world fell to pieces in front of her eyes and ears.

\---------------

_Why are you doing this to me?_

It had been a few months. Tests. So many tests. Poking, prodding, behavioral and psychological, physical and emotional responses… It was enough to make her head spin. The hybrid sat in her room, knees clutched to her chest as she took a deep, heaving sigh. 

_Come on, Morgan. Pull yourself together. It’ll be okay. You’re helping everyone. Patience._

She thought of herself as Morgan – her internal narration defaulted to that no matter how many times she reminded herself of her true nature, willingly or not. She looked like Morgan. She spoke in Morgan’s voice. She had her memories and life experiences, if somewhat altered by the simulation and drift.

Then why was no one treating her like a person when all she wanted to do was help?

The door slid open and Morgan sat up. Alex stood there for a moment, staring at the thing that looked like his sister. “Morgan,” he said with a tablet in hand, finishing up some notes from earlier. “Good morning.” She had noticed over the past few months she’d gotten called that more often, but only by him. Only him. She couldn’t tell if she was being humored, or if Alex was just that desperate for his sister back. None of the other staff had, even the ones she had thought were… on her side. 

“Let’s get it over with,” she muttered. Alex’s head cocked slightly to one side. “… You seem irritable today. Is something wrong, Morgan?” he asked, then immediately regretted. It was too late, though – the floodgates had been given an opening. 

The hybrid laughed once, short and sharp. Her tone was full with dry, bitter sarcasm: “Oh, no. Everything’s fine.” It had taken her a few weeks to relearn how to speak, given that mouths were complicated, but she had inherited more than just looks from her predecessor. The stubbornness, the sharp tongue – those had translated surprisingly well despite all the drift inherent to the process. By now? She was still quieter than the Morgan Alex remembered, but there were moments like this she was irritatingly prone to sass. It was both irksome and comforting, in some small way. A remnant, a reminder, a _continuation_ of his sister.

“I understand you’re frustrated,” Morgan half-heard Alex say, feeling her brow knit in perturbation involuntarily. Her brain raced with intrusive, violent thoughts; _You’re still not human. Finish it. Kill them._ She ignored them as usual, pushing them aside like a freight train of focus barreling through a rabid cow. “All the testing is to help the project work right the first time. We’re not sure we’ll get a second chance if your interface with the Coral doesn’t work.” 

“I know,” she said, “But I’m not...” She trailed off for a moment, trying to find the words. “I’m a person, Alex. I might not be entirely human, but I’m a person.” She glanced down at her boots, then back up. “I just want to be treated like one.” Suddenly she seemed smaller, older, more tired, but maybe that was just the way her posture was collapsing in on itself. “Nobody else seems to give a damn.”

She watched as Alex paused, staring at the thing in the shape of his sister. He seemed to be trying to think of what to say. Morgan eyed him, feeling some form of bitterness bubbling in her chest. She gritted her teeth behind pursed lips, her facial expression pinched. 

“Morgan,” he said, “I know this isn’t easy, but we’ve been preparing all this time for the expedition, and we need you to do your part.” 

_Don’t “Morgan” me. You don’t think I’m her. Not really, she thought to herself, but she held her tongue._

Today wasn’t going to be easy for either of them, she could tell. “Fine.”

As she started to ready herself for the day ahead, she began to formulate a statement in her head to demand a change. In her heart there was trepidation, but - That’s what she should do, right? Be a Yu. Have a plan. Be nothing if not meticulous...  
\---------------

_Am I not living up to what I’m supposed to be?_

“Recording online. Subject PCA-3L Day 55, testing round two. Combat test 17. Begin.”  
The hybrid began. Her legs launched her into motion down the poorly-lit squashed-octagon shape of the corridor, boots reverberating on the grating of the floor. Clang, clang, clang, clang, echoing throughout the facility. It was claustrophobic, and ever-changing – rotating modules with modular connectors, as far as she could tell. The world’s most sadistic science-themed Lego set, she mused on some level. She was so tired of testing at this point, all she wanted was to stop. Over and over, tests from the dangerous to the mundane. Most of the time they wouldn’t even tell her what they were testing for. Was she doing something wrong?

Rotating emergency illuminators cast things in red light (or amber, albeit less often). She was dimly reminded of a few shitty concerts Morgan had attended, the memories still floating around in her head. Too much flash, not enough substance. That applied to many things, really – and that was why she was making her way to the nearest junction she could find in hopes of finding a mock security station. Even if she began the test unarmed, she certainly wanted that to be a temporary state of affairs. 

Her gait went from loping sprint to a jog to a careful creep as she worked her way further into the emulated compound, peering around a corner. Another simulation, but one designed to be unerringly realistic. The acrid tang of ozone, lubricant oil and plastic hung in the air. Ahead was a crossroads, T-shaped – just what she was looking for. The familiar glow of a computer console beamed through the glass of the security room’s window. Next to it? A weapons locker. Bingo.

Up ahead in the corridor between it and herself. there was various industrial flotsam – cargo crates, a trash can, plastic utility barrels. Her psychoscope’s readings pegged the trashcan as a mimic, and she reached for the wrench at her belt, drawing it with alacrity beyond that of the typical individual. She was fast, and as she sprung into action with her wrench raised, the thing broke its guise. Anger came over her as she smashed the mimic, even simulated as it was. Her wrench crushed the creature into paste. Good. 

_Why am I seething with this animosity?_

She knew why. They were always an uncomfortable reminder of what she was – all the Typhon she encountered were.

Morgan entered the “T” of the intersection. There was a noise to her right, the familiar thrum of a kinetic blast being charged. Shit. Morgan ducked as the energy ball sailed just scant inches over her head and impacted on the wall, denting the sheet metal and sending a steam pipe leaking with a sharp hiss. She rolled from her crouch to close the distance, scooping up one of the barrels as she rose to her feet and hurling it with all the strength she could muster. Said strength was not inconsiderable – she was strong enough to yank open doors, and the barrel being full of hydraulic fluid with a high density gave it significant heft. More importantly: It gave it significant inertia, and it bowled the Phantom that had been firing upon the hybrid onto its back. She pounced on, straddling the thing’s torso and then smashing what passed for a head into the grating, shoulders heaving. Black splattered her suit, and she quickly hauled herself back to her feet.

The hybrid glanced at the keypad and scowled – its hacking protection was level four, just beyond her ability to penetrate security. She glanced over her shoulder briefly, then had an idea. One of the many boxes piled atop the cargo crates and pallets was a Huntress bow. Useless by itself aside from distraction, but… The tips were conductive. She retrieved the box and tore it open, yanking the toy crossbow out and racking a dart. A shuffle to realign her angle was next. She aimed down its rudimentary sights and squeezed the trigger, shooting for the small gap in the window, arcing the shot so that the dart would – squeak! – hit its target. Excellent. The dart flopped down, bouncing off after impact. The door’s lock turned green, and she opened the door, setting the Huntress aside for a much more serious longarm. Throne S4. Standard 12-gauge, pump-action. Eight shots was what the ammo counter read – extended magazine tube.

Her timing was excellent – that was when she heard the sparking of the Voltaic phantom coming down the corridor...  
\---------------

Alex squinted at the camera feeds from the control room of the simulation. Interesting. He’d known from the sims that the Hybrid subject was inventive in its problem-solving, and given its aversion to the Typhon neuromods available that was all but strictly required to keep her going at points in the Talos I recreation. It wasn’t just smart – it was adaptable. He’d learned this much, but to see it get that creative was both impressive and somewhat frightening. The idea of it deciding to leave containment gave him chills, despite the fact it had been so far cooperative. They’d been drilling it repeatedly to get the course times down (which they had begun to do). Time was always vital…

\---------------  
_I think you owe me a great big apology._

Ichor from the phantom, simulated as it was, splattered Morgan as she unloaded a rapid volley of four buckshot shells into the thing’s chest. Shock tingled at her as the creature advanced to within a few meters, the arcs of electricity traveling from it to the walls. She aimed center mass and worked the pump of the action in a fluid motion that could only be from either loads of practice or a few neuromods, and there were no prizes for guessing which. The thing staggered and she let her shotgun fall from her hands to hang by its sling strap, her right going for her wrench and yanking it off its clip to swing it in a harsh arc intersecting with the Phantom’s head. WHUD. The Phantom dissipated into a pile of black globs, and the Hybrid forged down the hall a few steps, then suddenly came to a halt. 

A few moments passed. “Subject,” came the clipped, clinical voice of the man standing next to Alex in the control room, Dr. Vegard Larsen. “You are to continue through the test. Why have you stopped?” She couldn’t see him, of course, his voice was piped in through the comms connection. She had only previously caught sight of him through the containment wing’s windows, though, and he was tall, broad, chiseled in features, about 45, if she had to guess, and incredibly smug in demeanor. “I’m done, Larsen,” she said, folding her arms across her chest, shotgun dangling from its sling. She took a deep breath to steel herself, overhearing the hushed-but-riled-up whispering she could still make out through the connection. 

“Can it even do that?”

Morgan felt her lip twitch into a brief sneer for a split-second. “Yes. I can. I have had enough. I’m tired.” She realized the trouble she had just gotten herself into by snarling like that. _I’ve dug this deep. May as well use the shovel,_ she thought to herself, ignoring the indignant orders that came from Larsen entirely as she began to speak again. “None of you treat me like anything but a rat in a maze. I’ve put up with this for months because I want to help, but until I start getting some basic dignity, I’m not going to cooperate with the project any longer.” Her mouth was dry and it felt like her pulse was racing, and she knew that she may have just put herself in mortal danger. Her cooperation was her only bargaining chip against these people, and without it she was dreading the possibility of a “termination of the experiment” – but that was why she was doing it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and she had nothing else left to lose in her cards.

With that, the hybrid woman sat down and folded her legs, taking her shotgun and racking it repeatedly to clear the action of unused shells to render the gun unloaded, ejecting them from the tube. She set the weapon aside and popped her helmet seal, taking the protecting headwear off to get some “fresh” air. More muffled whispering, now quieter and indiscernible, echoed in her earpiece. 

\---------------

There was silence from the assembled staff as it spoke in Morgan’s voice, and then a sustained series of frantic whispering. Mikhaila and Sarah, standing at their respective consoles (the electrical system and security readouts, respectively) shared a concerned glance. On the medical side, Dayo's brow furrowed. "Alex, you should take a look at this," he said in his usual rumble, albeit with somewhat more somber and with more gravity. The readouts showed its heartrate was racing, and the biometrics of its blood pressure and stress levels were reading elevated as well. After months of stoic behavior, short clipped sentences full of an uncanny replication of the Yu wit, no signs of emotional distress aside from what seemed within the bounds of copycatting true humans – she was _actually_ getting fed up. 

That was unexpected, Alex mused, thinking over some serious revisions to how he was going about this. A sinking feeling was in his stomach as he began to properly register that this wasn’t just emotional parroting or mirroring. They’d been doing this to something that actually felt, or was extremely good at faking it. He had been operating under the second assumption, prepared for the worst, to have to purge containment once again and start from scratch with another captured Typhon… All this made a feeling of deep discomfort rise within him: His fear of it changing its mind had blinded him to the fact he was using a sentient being like a lab animal in a clinical trial. Oh, no. No wonder it had been sulking – no wonder **SHE** had been sulking. 

The staff in the command room, from the security team at the doors to the science members monitoring things and the engineers controlling the system – they all eyed Alex. Larsen did, too, the hint of a look of distaste on his features. “Are you really going to let it try and manipulate you like that, Doctor Yu?” he asked. Alex fought the temptation to scowl and give him a reprimand. “I think that this is the real thing. She’s not Morgan, Larsen, but that’s what she likes being called and who she thinks of herself as. I think there’s more going on in there besides monkey-see-monkey-do when it comes to the Looking Glass videos and audio recordings. In fact, at this point I’m reasonably confident that the brainwave scans we did weren’t a coincidence.” He narrowed his eyes in thought at the camera feed. “Combine that with the biometrics,” he said, gesturing out to one side at the screen with her vital readouts from the suit’s telemetry, “- and we have a picture that’s telling me more than a few words, and they’re all saying we’ve been going about this the wrong way.” Larsen opened his mouth to speak, but a harsh glare from Alex took his gusto away and he clammed back up.

\---------------

Alex’s voice crackled in Morgan’s ear. “Morgan,” he started, “I’m going to be honest with you.” _Ah, great,_ she thought to herself. _Honesty. The best policy, when it’s gotten us this far._ She crossed her arms again and grimaced at the camera watching her. She steeled herself for the inevitable logical justifications and explanations that he’d undoubtedly have in store for her ne-

“You’re **right.”**


	2. What Goes Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little look at the past, and a little view of the present. Context.

_Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep, beep._

“Good morning, Morgan. Today is Monday, July 17th, 2034. You have an eight PM appointment with -” _–_ and then a thunk as a palm came down upon the clock.

The woman awoke, cracking an eye open and then promptly squeezing it back closed. Ugh. _Mondays…_ after a few seconds she surrendered to being awake, and sat up, stretching her arms and yawning.

 _Okay, Morgan. Right. Monday. 17_ _th_ _. Meeting with Bellamy moved to the 19_ _th_ , and – oh. Oh, damn.  
  
Morgan had been so busy with work she had nearly forgotten Mikhaila’s dinner date. THAT was why she had moved that meeting. Right. 8 PM sharp. She sprung up despite the hint of a hangover lingering in her skull and went through her morning routine. The woman peered at herself in the mirror after grooming her appearance to an acceptable point. She was… well, herself. A well-sculpted face with high cheekbones and warm brown eyes that glittered with a healthy measure of sharp analysis. “Look good, feel good,” she muttered to herself with a self-indulgent smirk. Morgan went to go get her suit from its place on her quarters’ wall, and she quickly slipped into it without any ado. With that, she barged into the hall and locked up behind her.

Her boots padded along the surface of the floor, her gait confident and purposeful as always, shoulders slightly back, chin slightly up. She had _poise,_ and it had been drilled into her by her mother. Sure, she wasn’t a mama’s girl, the opposite if anything, but she was someone who liked to get a certain impression around: the titanium bitch. The woman took the gravity lift down, and she nodded at Mitchell the cook as he bustled his way to the kitchen with Skillet floating behind him. “Will,” she murmured in acknowledgment. “Doctor Yu,” he chimed back with a smile. Morgan _liked_ her title. She’d worked hard for it.

She made her way to the cafeteria to get some breakfast, waiting ten or fifteen minutes for Will to do his thing – she was up early as he was. It couldn’t have been later than 5:30. Breakfast was a GMO soy tofu substitute that was a passable imitation of scrambled eggs paired with a bagel. Chewing quietly, she watched people start to filter into the cafeteria as the station’s “day” shift (somewhat meaningless off of earth) began their schedules, while the night shift was starting to wind down.

She pondered to herself how she was going to impress Mikhaila tonight. She’d resolved to try and do at least one thing to wow her every time they had a capital-D Date™, and tonight was to be no exception. Alex showed up and had a seat, having taken his sweet time. “Hey, Morgan,” he said in that characteristic inflection of his. “I’ve heard you’ve got a bet with your buddy that you can figure out a way around the ionization problem you’ve been having to get the neuromod mapping faster. That true? Bets are against policy,” he chided, tongue firmly in cheek. He was the last person to care. “Yeah. That and I think I pissed him off by moving the meeting…” She rubbed her chin. “I mean, it’s for a date, so...” She was so absorbed in the thought that she should get a new suit fabricated for a dance at some point that she almost didn’t notice Sylvain Bellamy walking past.

Their eyes met, his in a sidelong glance at her and he immediately adapted an exasperated expression. Alex glanced between the two other scientists, and he could tell that shit was about to go down, or at least continue - “Sylvain: You and me. We’re finishing that argument,” She said it loud enough that her voice may have carried a little much to the neighboring tables and a great groan came up from half of the people seated nearby. ANOTHER one of the two’s dumb pissing contests, but at least it was all in good nature and their scientific interest and desire to be proven correct was… sort of kind of altruistic-but-not. Sure, they were advancing humanity, but their _egos…_ Alex looked on, equal measures bemused and amused. “Morgan,” Sylvain said, “Can I at _least_ have a bagel bef-” “Eat and argue. You can chew gum and walk at the same time, right?” Morgan quipped. Sylvain and Alex rolled their eyes simultaneously…

\---------------  
  
_“…_ And if we can get that compensation algorithm to work, maybe devote some Deep Storage processing power to the problem too on top of all the other stuff, a few idle operators too, I think there’s a way to double the speed a Neuromod maps to neurons at,” Morgan explained as she walked alongside Hans Kelstrup. “We were a little worried your math was off,” Hans said with a wry smile as the pair continued to Psychotronics from the cafeteria. “But if you really think you can crack this, then by all means. You’re the boss.” They shared an indulgent grin with each other. “Oh, ye of little faith,” Morgan quipped back. “I just have to get the computer to get a predictive procedural analysis on the fly of one of the most complicated natural things humanity has to contend with. The mind is a wonderful thing.” Her tone was dry and amused, as was characteristic of her.

“True, but once you’ve solved it I hope your plan to rip the neuromods out and put them back in a bunch of times works. You do know what you’re doing, Doctor Yu, but… Just be careful.” Hans’ voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as they entered the lobby to Psychotronics. “Wouldn’t wanna lose Yu anytime soon.” Morgan rolled her eyes in a good nature as they proceeded past the reception desk like they owned the place (because they did)...

\---------------

Meetings came, meetings went but her heart was never far from the thought of Morgan Yu, in one way or another. Mikhaila sighed faintly as her office door slid shut. Ian Rolston, as one of the firefighters aboard the station, had been pitching a fit about firelanes – some of the engineering crew had a bad habit of leaving toolboxes or consoles in the way of vital thoroughfares enough to be a concern. The whole time, though, she’d been fretting over her impending date with the head of research. Dinner wasn’t a big deal now that she was well established with Morgan, but the worry remained regardless. She was still worried about her Paraplexis being discovered, and even more worried about her purpose for being on the station in the first place being uncovered.

She had assuaged Ian’s concerns by pledging to send an announcement to all the engineering staff on the station next time there was a mandatory meeting for the department. Sometimes being the chief engineer was a hassle, but it was something she had to do – all of this was for a purpose, after all. Her father was still missing… even if she had found **someone** . She exhaled again, resting her chin in her palm. _Okay, Mika – get a grip._ She stood, and began the trip back to her quarters – the standard trip up through Life Support, past the security checkpoints and all, then up the elevator to the crew area. Simple, right? Right. Her boots tracked over the flooring and she nodded at the occasional face that passed by when they acknowledged her. She’d grown so used to “Chief Ilyushin,” every time she passed it almost didn’t register. She found herself having been so lost in thought and worry that by the time she realized the elevator had stopped, the doors were already open. She bustled her way past the gaggles of employees clustered hither and thither and continued to the arboretum when she heard her title again.

“Chief?” it repeated. Oh, someone was actually addressing her this time. It was Will, and he was carrying a load of those engineered bananas in a mesh bag. Odds were it was dessert supplies. “Doctor Yu’s waiting for you in your usual spot. I’ve got Skillet watching dinner,” he said, speaking as they both headed for the crew quarters, “I think you’re going to enjoy what we’ve got for you tonight. The operator’s great!” He chuckled, and Mikhaila managed a laugh that was relatively genuine. “I can imagine. Less stirring on your part, more getting to do the fun parts.” They carried themselves down the stairs to crew quarters, and with cordial short-term goodbyes they each peeled off to their respective destinations.

\---------------

Morgan tapped a little beat on the table with her fingers, gloves removed and set aside for reasonable fine motor control. Sure, was she capable of using chopsticks with gloves? Yes. Was it a pain in the ass? Absolutely. She didn’t have to wait too long to see that familiar figure in orange and gray, the Russian’s short-cropped dark hair bouncing just a little bit with each step. “Morgan!” Mikhaila said as she approached via the mezzanine and slid into a seat. The two shared a brief smooch on the cheek for each of them. “Mika,” Morgan said back, warmly and indulgently in that tone she only took with the Chief Engineer. A far cry from her clinical demeanor. “Good to see you for longer than a few minutes. You’re hungry, I hope?” A chuckle came from the scientist and it was shared by the engineer, the two women settling in. Glasses of water were already upon the table, and Mikhaila had a sip to soothe the dryness of her mouth. She loved Morgan, but the constant reminders that she gave herself about hiding her condition did make things somewhat nervewracking from time to time. The woman tried to focus on the moment. She was here, with someone who cared.

 

“Yes,” Mikhaila said, “I had eel rolls and a banana for lunch but that’s about it. I’m practically famished.” Morgan’s warm smile curled the corners of her lips, and Mika couldn’t help but smile herself, too. “I’m glad you brought your appetite. Will said he’s got something special for us, and — Oh, speak of the devil...” She glanced over Mikhaila’s shoulder and grinned. Will was approaching with serving tray (complete with fancy dome lid), and Skillet took it from him and placed it gingerly upon the table. “Doctor Yu! Chief Engineer Ilyushin!” it chimed in its slightly modulated, slightly glitchy voice. “Chef Mitchell and I would like to present...” Will grinned at the robot, and Mikhaila raised an eyebrow. The operator was… very personable. Will spoke, now: “… Swordfish steaks with a lemon reduction and quinoa.” The engineer’s other eyebrow raised now and she looked to Morgan, surprised. “Did you ship these from Ea-” Morgan didn’t even need to hear the rest of the sentence. “Yes.”  
  
Will gave a little laugh, laughing with them and not at them. “Dessert’s banana crème brulee. Let me know when you’re ready for it! Bon appetit, ladies.” Skillet bobbed in place and removed the lid, and the scent of seafood and seasonings wafted around the table, sticking the already-plated portions in front of each woman. “Enjoy!” it said before floating off back to the kitchen, Will alongside with a little goodbye wave over his shoulder. Morgan’s faint grin grew a little as the seconds passed. The Chief Engineer felt awkward; the worst part was how much Mikhaila realized she liked it, and how much she liked being spoiled like this.

 

Morgan looked practically devious in the way she was smiling at Mikhaila.

 

\---------------

 

Morgan looked practically exhausted the way she was staring at Mikhaila’s picture.

She had a TranScribe with some of the features locked down, they’d allowed her some leeway in the time since the last test. Some of Morgan’s files had been given to her, but only some. She tapped through the directories, eventually finding a media folder entitled “personal_relations”. With the expanded screen in front of her, she stared hard at the photo of herself and her partner — her **old** self and erstwhile partner — standing in front of the cafeteria window. Morgan’s arm was around Mikhaila’s shoulder and they were both looking at the stars, plates on the table mostly empty of food. There was a set of fireworks going off off the station, beyond the photovoltaic rings, red and orange bursts. Probably something she had pulled to try and impress the Russian. She didn’t remember that dinner, but she longed for it, a deep ache in her heart. “Mika…” she whispered softly, fingers tracing over the photo. The date in the corner read 2034. Three years ago. She swiped to bring the next file up. It was an audio file, only a few seconds long, entitled REMINDER. The transcribe bleeped as usual as it opened the log.

“It ended for a reason. Don’t hurt her more than you have.”

A pause in the log, and Morgan felt anxiety and dismay rising in her stomach.  
  
“Move on.”  
  
The log ended.  
  
Morgan sat there stock-still for a few seconds before the TranScribe fell from her fingers to the floor, her seat upon her bed hunching over as she moved to cradle her head in her hands.“I… I can’t,” she whispered to herself, fingers digging into her hair. “I can’t.” Tears began to run down her face.

They were black as midnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More is forthcoming! I promised I'd keep writing <3


	3. Actors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. it's the 2nd prey-iversary. i've been trying to tweak this chapter a long time, but SURPRISE i figure I should just post this considering the date. enjoy!

“So, what you’re saying is it’s not faking any of it? Or that is to say, it _was_ but in a way that a human would up until recently?” Chief Elazar asked, her eyes slightly narrowed. “I don’t buy it.” Sarah was perched on a crate near the Looking Glass screen that showed a feed from Morgan’s containment chamber. The conference room the team leads had assembled in was sparser than the luxury accommodations aboard Talos, but at least there was a reasonable version of coffee and donuts, however dry the partly-fabricated food could get on occasion. Things had been tight with the Typhon invasion of earth, and it was a lot more difficult to get certain ingredients these days. They made do anyway.

  
“Yes,” Dayo replied. “In fact, I am **quite** certain of it.” He gestured with an extended index finger in a little waggle. “The biometrics from the sensors installed in her helmet and suit neck seal assembly all line up: She _was_ faking it in the last trials, I would be saying the same as you had this not happened. But it – _she’s_ come clean.” The scientist paced a little. “My hypothesis is simple: She was doing what she _thought_ we wanted her to do, be the old Morgan.” He tapped his palm with his index finger to punctuate. “Changing your behavior when you know you are having something expected of you in a test is a very human thing to do, it’s why we have double-blind studies in many cases, and the regions of the brain involved in being angry rather than deceitful were most active during her… outburst. Combined with the Q-and-A session I had with her, I am swayed that this is **not** an act.” The bearded, bespectacled gentleman crossed his arms, lips pulled into a line.

 

Alex, exhausted as he was, sat in a chair at the head of the table, trying to boost his mood with caffeine and sugary baked goods. Mikhaila was seated a few seats down, looking somewhat melancholy, and not far off from her in turn was Danielle leaning against the table, who looked more tired of all of this than anything. She hadn’t slept properly once in days with all the work collating raw data into something studiable, she’d been doing it for the science teams, and her lack of rest showed. “I still am glad we took the precautionary measure with remote controlled Operators… I think you risking your ass like that wasn’t the best move. Seriously, if that thing had come out a dud like the others and you’d given it that chance... Who knows what could have happened?”  
  
“It was worth it. I don’t think a roomful of Operators by themselves would have gotten as positive a response,” Alex said. “But we’ve _had_ this argument, Chief Sho. I am tired of belaboring the point, it is in the past. We must look to the future.” Danielle wanted to roll her eyes and snort at the typical Yu theatricality, but she knew he was right for once in his life. “Okay, fine. So what do we do here?”  
  
“The right thing,” Mikhaila interjected, raising her gaze and her head. Her joints ached and it showed in her body language. “She’s… different, sure. She is not exactly the Morgan I knew, but — I believe her, too.”

  
Sarah’s face curled into confusion. “You believe _that?_ Really?”

 

“Yes,” Mikhaila said. “It’s… complicated. She is not the person we knew in more than a few ways, but… she is trying.” Her eyes moved from person to person in the room. “Throughout the simulation she went out of her way to be compassionate. I was disappointed when she was playing at the old Morgan, but… It’s obvious now, with what Dayo is saying. She thought that’s what we wanted. If I was her, I would be angry too, even if her misunderstanding things meant we were stretching this out the wrong way.” A soft sigh came from her, an exhalation that was slow and steady through her nose. “I think we should apologize.”

 

“You think we should _what?”_ Danielle said, “So it was nice in a simulation. How do we know it’s not just playing the _looooong_ game?” “Because if I were her, I’d want one too. We should practice as we preach. Empathy, Danielle.” The Chief Archivist glanced down in thought for a moment as she considered the Chief Engineer’s words. “… Yeah. Okay. Sarah?” There was a long moment of silence as Elazar pondered the proposition. “… Alright. We say sorry. We mean it. _Then_ what?” Alex chimed in. “Mikhaila’s right,” he stated simply. “Thank you, Alex. Excuse me, it is near end of one of my medication cycles.” They knew by then that it meant she’d need to go back to her quarters. With that, Mikhaila managed to haul herself to her full height from her chair, bracing her palms against the table for upwards leverage. She departed, back straight and head held high. Even in discomfort, the woman’s sense of dignity would not be compromised.

 

On the screen behind Sarah, Morgan was stirring and going through her morning routine. Alex spoke again. “We start giving her some room. Stop treating her like a wild animal… we do it in layers. Let her prove herself so the naysayers are kept in check and this project can continue. What Mikhaila said; We do the right thing.”

\---------------

 

Morgan was not in the best of moods.

  
She was silent as she took a shower, other than a few soft, frustrated, exasperated exhalations. The typhon-hybrid-thing- _person_ stewed in her thoughts as warm water flowed over her shoulders, her hair let down and plastered to her face and her upper back. Her forehead rested against the wall as she let her mismatched eyes slip shut for a moment, swallowing once.

  
The previous day’s log-listening had done her little good. Sure, it was nice to know more what she had been like in the gap she could not recall, but knowing that she’d had so much, been so high, and then _blown_ it, ruined everything, lost it all? It stung, even if little of it had been her choice. Her face tightened into a quiet scowl as she rose upright again and finished washing up, stepping out of the shower and drying off.

 

Morgan went to get dressed, pulling on her suit and fixing herself a cup of ersatz coffee. The apartment was yet another simulacrum of her one on Earth, albeit somewhat more spartan, the leather was fake where it had been real, the tile and countertops imitation as well. It was enough to at least make her feel a little better, but she knew there were bugs of the listening device kind. They’d be fools to not have, she thought to herself. It’s what she’d have done. Or would she? It depends _which_ she, she grimly thought to herself. Savoring the halfway decent flavor of the beverage, she stared out at the “skyline” on the Looking Glass windows.  
  
She wished it was real.

 

\---------------

  
It was a few days later. Sure, she’d managed to argue her way to a more advantageous position. Sure, she was now afforded a little more autonomy, which was why she was able to walk around some less-sensitive areas of the bunker-base unescorted like she was now. That didn’t mean she was _happy._ She knew that everywhere she went her movements were tracked, activities doubtlessly monitored via the cameras and her tracking devices, both a bracelet and integrated into the suit, not to mention the Operators that dotted the facility. Still, she knew that it was a process to her erstwhile colleagues. To them, she was not quite Morgan, she was… _that._ The Typhon hybrid. The _thing._ The one that _acted._  
  
That wasn’t true, was it?

  
_No,_ Morgan thought to herself. _I am myself._ _I think, therefore I am._ _Cogito ergo sum._ The little mantra she’d found herself using as both a link to her intellect and an appeal to her emotions simultaneously was not perfect, but it had to do. Either way, the former research director pondered as she worked her way to the cafeteria to both eat something and occupy herself. Even if she’d just taken a nap, she didn’t sleep that much anymore as much as it was more a torpor state; a daydream of rest. Morgan suspected it was due to her new biology, the same way she no longer needed to breathe air. That had been disconcerting to discover during testing. It was an obvious conclusion, Typhon didn’t need oxygen, but it was still a stark reminder. Did she need to eat? Yes and no. She was mostly not beholden to the laws of thermodynamics, but even she got hungry. Not the hunger she hated most, the little latent desire to just… take all that delicious psi force. No, this was more mundane, and likely psychosomatic, she had previously mused.

 

Booted feet carried her into the mess hall, and her immediate reception was… chilly. There was a hush that came over the people eating at this hour, furtive whispers shared. Eyes fell upon her. It was _spectacularly_ uncomfortable, not just for them but for her as well. She glanced around as people stared, pausing to look for only a moment before continuing on. Acting like she was supposed to be there was one of the key skills of getting in and out of places, after all.

 

“… Good morning,” she muttered to the petrified-looking man behind the serving counter. “Good, uh — good morning.” He was obviously trying to downplay it, but the way he swallowed in fear was transparent, and it seemed as if he was liable to bolt at any second. Morgan ignored it, and waited expectantly. There was an awkward pause, the counter-man (whose nametag read J. BROOKS) stock-still. “… May I have some food, please?” she asked. Her voice was low, quiet, and even. The man stammered again. “I, uh, uhm, er — sure, sure.” He hastily portioned out the meal of the day — breaded eel fillet with wild rice that had been genetically engineered to thrive in hydroponic environments — and gave Morgan a can of sparkling (and recycled) water. She nodded a little. “Thank you,” she said, bluntly and simply, then the woman went to a table. She almost sat down at one with some people, but given the way they all stared she just carried on past to an empty one. She ate alone.

This sucked.

\---------------

  
The sun was starting to set.

 

The erstwhile neuroscientist had returned to her quarters, feeling… unwelcome. After a while, her TranScribe had begun to ring. Picking it up, she noticed the caller ID was from Alex. Interesting. He’d been busy as hell lately and she’d not heard as much from him as she’d have liked, so this was a pleasant change of pace. “Alex,” she said, answering the call. “What’s up?” He replied in relatively short order, after a pause just long enough to make Morgan’s eyebrow raise in concern. “I wanted to talk to you. In person, I mean. If you want, I can drop by, or you can visit my office. How’s that sound?” Morgan paused to consider it.

 

“Yeah,” she said after a few moments of deliberation. “I’ll come by. Just… make sure the turrets I’m sure you have are calibrated to my signature, huh?” She knew Alex would have taken that precaution without prompting, but it never hurt to be sure. “What’s on your mind?” Morgan asked, trying to get a specific answer out of him. “Well,” Alex said, “It’s best we just talk. I’ll see you soon, Morgan.”

 

\---------------

 

The door slid open to Alex’s office. “Hello, Morgan,” Alex’s voice drifted to her. An elevator ride and several security checkpoints had lain between Morgan and Alex, but thankfully despite the reservations of the guards Alex had cleared Morgan’s keycard for general access. No restricted areas of course, but it was enough to go the places she was allowed to at this point. The administration level was open to her, and she took in the sight: The office was appointed similarly to his old one, clearly built before everything had gone to shit with the hardwood it sported. It was also somewhat cramped, given that there were five other people in the room. Morgan paused at the door, like a deer in headlights as she saw that not only was Alex there, but Dayo, Danielle, Sarah, and Mikhaila were as well. Uh oh.

 

Danielle was perched on a filing cabinet, Mikhaila was seated on a wheeled office chair, Dayo was standing, and Sarah was likewise on her feet, looking on edge.

“… Is there something you wanted to bring up with me?” Morgan asked carefully, diplomatically. She tried not to pay attention to the fact that every last one of them sported a pistol, and in Sarah’s case, a pair of nullwave grenades at her belt as well. Alex spoke again. “Yes. Take a seat, Morgan.”  
  
“I’ll stand,” she replied.

 

“If you want,” her brother replied as he shrugged. “Listen, Morgan. I’m gonna be honest with you again. We all have something to tell you here, or at least we all agreed that it was worth telling you.” Caution was written on Morgan’s face, eyes flicking about restlessly. “… We wanted to apologize.”

  
“What?”

  
“We wanted to apologize, Morgan,” Alex said, folding his hands together on his desk.

Morgan’s brow furrowed just the slightest bit, her eyes narrowing. “… Really, now?” Alex nodded a bit. “Yes. We needed to exercise due caution, but in the process we didn’t do right by you. So… we’re sorry, and you’ll continue getting more privileges as time passes. It’s safety, you understand, and the staff would have a fit if you had full access immediately. I trust you, we all trust you enough to do this, but not everyone shares the sentiment.”  
  
Morgan digested that for a few moments, playing the information over in her mind, like turning a knicknack over in one’s hands. “… Thank you,” she said after a pause. “I appreciate you giving me some credit. I know that earlier on I was… not entirely myself.” Her pulse was elevated, this was stressful, but it was worthwhile to be there for.

  
“Morgan,” Mikhaila interjected with. “It’s more than that. We wanted to tell you you’re doing well. _Right?”_ She sent a meaningful look at Alex and Sarah. “… Yes,” Sarah said, somewhat reluctantly. “You’ve been passing the tests with flying colors, barring our little incident, but that was a, uh, net positive.” She grudgingly admitted it, at least.

 

“… What’s the catch?” Morgan crossed her arms. Internally she was unsure of how to process Mikhaila’s assertion. It was praise, but she wasn’t sure there was _trust_.

  
“What?” Alex asked, eyebrow raising. “I’m not sure—“

  
  
“Cut the shit, Alex. I know that tone you get when you’re proud but you want something.” Morgan’s voice wasn’t particularly angry, just tired. So tired.

He sighed irritably. “Okay, yes. We’ve been… Well. The Coral nodes… They’re largely inaccessible. To be frank, that’s what the tests are for. Preparing you. You’re the only one who could reach them alive, but there’s a few major ones across North America, and some of them would require quite the trip. We’re putting together a task force, and we want **you** on it."

"... I'll do it," Morgan said. "On one condition."  
  
"That being?"  
  
"I want to be treated as an **equal,** Alex."

\---------------


End file.
